My Favorite Colour
by Manda Mcdowall
Summary: The Chamber was a hard time for Ginny Weasley, but she thought she she was over that, over him. It was all forgotten all that remained was a poem...
1. Love is a poem

**I'm sitting here wondering how I'm honestly going to write this story you see I always write A/N's before writing anything else and I'm writing this one thinking "How the bloody hell am I supposed to get this across without making it cheesy" I've said it once or twice too. But I'll try and if your reading this now it means that I'm probably happy with it though you may disagree. What's going to happen is a mystery (even to me) but maybe just maybe it will be a happy ending I mean there always has to be a happy ending (I disagree completely with this!) if your interested by the tone in which I look at this story now read on. If you're a hopeless romantic looking for a fix then read on (I'll join you) And if you've always hoped that somehow just somehow the one you love or loved could ever love you too then read on it may give you hope. This is a ridiculously long a/n now so I must leave you but I will return in the end.**

**A/n 2 : I've just reread this and am kinda scared of myself ignore me and read the story!

* * *

**

A young teenage girl sat on her own in a crowded common room of Gryffindor tower. In her lap was a scrapbook and with her quill she wrote. As she wrote it felt like the words where being etched into her own heart and she knew that she would never forget them. Her quill stopped at the end of each verse but she did not pause to wipe her tears. For she wrote about love and although her love was believed to be baseless and fanatic she knew better or she thought she did. She was a person who had forgotten and lost her own self. She had been innocent. All she had left was love, love of a boy who would never love her back. So she settled for love of the written word. She finished the last verse and sobbed violently. She stuffed her love into her bag unable to acknowledge it. Her older brother rapped her in a hug, he consoled her in the one thing her love enabled her to forget she was only then able to forget the diary. Her heart continued to scream for many a year always in hiding it was soon forgotten. All that remained was a poem. The remembrance of the strongest love of all, first love.

* * *

"Mum I can't help them clean the attic today I've got to finish that essay for Snape."

"But Ginny you finished that essay yesterday Hermione told me."

"But…"

"No but's your helping and that's final."

Three friends listened to this exchange which was happening outside the attic, the room they where cleaning. Hermione, the only girl, had grimaced at the sound of her name because she knew, as did Harry and Ron, that Ginny would be furious with her. The girl in question was then pushed into the room by her mother, she pounded on the door which just seconds before had been slammed and locked in her face.

"Hermione?" She asked slowly and deliberately as she gave up her futile attempts at escape. "Why on earth did you feel it necessary to tell my mother that I had finished my homework?" Hermione whimpered at the girl before saying.

"She asked me how you where getting on yesterday, I didn't mean to ruin your excuse." Ginny continued to look angry before realising how scared her friend actually looked. She sighed and patting Hermione on the arm said:

"Err Mione I know I'm cranky in the morning but I didn't think I was that scary." Harry and Ron both laughed and even Hermione managed a small titter.

"So I guess we'd better get started then."

They spent the rest of the morning sorting through boxes a lot full of old clothes that had become rags as a result of being hand-me-down's to six Weasley boy's. They found themselves overwhelmed with old books and magazines. A collection of teen witch weekly magazines, which had all belonged to Ginny ranging from last year to four years previous. Harry had unfortunately been asked, very quietly of course, by Ron to sort through what he called Ginny's corner because as he put it Ginny was to sentimental to throw away any of her old junk and Hermione was to friendly with Ginny to be trusted in the disposal of it all.

"But what is I throw something away that's really important to her?"

"You won't, all the stuff that really means something to her is in her room. All this stuff is just her hoarding. I mean like she even reads any of these magazines anymore. Just steer clear of the baby clothes you'll get skinned alive for throwing those. Believe me I know." He patted Harry on the back and walked over to his own pile, which he sorted through throwing next to nothing away, instead he looked through it with a smile on his lips occasionally laughing at some memory or another.

Five minuets later Harry couldn't remember why he thought Ron had been wrong in saying this stuff was true junk. If sorting through Ginny's magazines wasn't bad enough (all the cover witch's giggled and waved at him flirtatiously) he then had to tackle all her old clothes which where all frills, he got a headache trying to decipher which end was which. And just as he thought that it couldn't get any worse than this one of Ginny's diaries (he supposed it was one before the days of Tom Riddle) gave him a particularly bad bite. As he kicked it under the nearby dresser (There was no way he was going any where near that again) He noticed another box belonging to Ginny.

He smiled indulgently; this box had clearly been labelled by Ginny personally. It read: **Ginny's! On NO account is anyone – annoying brothers included – to open, throw away or maim my box!**

He shouldn't open it. It was personal. But as Ron had said it was probably just junk. And the box was worn, obviously she had written that years ago. Was she really still that persistent on the fact that nobody should look inside? He knew that she would mind. But curiosity got the better of him. He stretched out his hand but withdrew it almost instantly when Ron's piercing screams and Ginny's laughter hit his ears. He spun around to see Ron hitting his head over and over and Ginny – hand still outstretched – bending over in hysterical giggles. Finally Ron's hand swept the spider from his hair. He collapsed onto the floor panting.

"Sorry Ron. But I just couldn't resist." She scooped up the equally petrified spider and put it back on it's web.

"Ginny I'm gonna –" but exactly what Ron was going to do they never found out because at that moment the door clicked magically open and Mrs Weasley's voice floated up towards them.

"Lunch dears. You can finish the attic later. I've made Shepard's pie." Ron's faces cleared and lead the way down to the kitchen. Lunch passed in good humour Ron seemed to have forgotten the spider and was cheery throughout. Everyone was chatty and when the twins entered the kitchen half way through they where greeted favourably even by their mother. And as they traipsed back to the attic accompanied by the twins they nearly all had smiles on their faces, except Harry who could not get the box or it's owner out of his mind.

And as the others picked up where they had left off, so did he, he opened the box as he has known he would ever since reading it's message. It didn't look very interesting just an assailment of things empty perfume bottles old notebooks but then he found something that really captured his interest.

It was a scrapbook the same size as the others but it didn't look the same. It was a specific shade of red velveteen, which Harry recognised but could not place. But then he remembered it was the deep red of Fawkes' wing. He flicked through it, it became apparent that it was from her first year at Hogwarts because the stuff she had collected (mostly timetables and textbook extracts) was from that era of her life. He wanted to slam it shut then to have never have ventured but it was to late and he could not help himself. He stopped on a page because he recognised Ginny's light cylindrical cursive. The page was blotchy with tears but Harry could still make out the poem:

_My favourite colour? _

_Seems a strange term to me,_

_The colour I favour changes, _

_But not in time,_

_It changes with the wind, _

_The position of the sky,_

_The mood in my heart,_

_So I never will have a favourite colour,_

_Just this morning it was the pink in the sky,_

_As I watched from the window,_

_So beautiful it took my breath away,_

_And it will be there tomorrow and the day after that,_

_Yesterday it was the colour of a magpie's wing,_

_As it took to the sky,_

_So simple but yet so amazing, _

_But the bird will continue to fly, _

_And tonight it will be the dull amber in a flame,_

_Radiant in the fireplace,_

_So uncomplicated but yet it brings warmth to the small,_

_As it will continue to do so,_

_But for now, just for now, _

_It is the green in your eye as I'm watching you, _

_But it won't always be,_

_And hopefully tomorrow,_

_Tomorrow it will be the blue of my last tear,_

_Over you,_

He slammed the book shut, and blinked back unshed tears. One thought etched across his mind. _He should have known._ And maybe he should have, but he didn't not till now. And now perhaps he was to late. To late to make it right. He looked over his shoulder to where she was now. She was bending over a box humming the Weird Sisters latest hit. He felt with a jolt someone tap him on the shoulder hard.

"Pack it up now Harry," It was said in a grave voice as if someone had just died. Harry turned round to face Ginny's older brother and his best friend Ron.

"What?"

"The box, even we… We don't. It's from her summer just after the chamber it's just scraps she collected from her first year, but we know it was hard for her so we respect her privacy, just this once." Ron finished his speech and didn't bother to make sure Harry packed it all away again. Harry looked over his shoulder once more steeling a quick glance at her, before packing her memory's back in the box. But not all of her memories. Her scrapbook was salvaged from the dark of the attic and hidden under Harry's pillow. He could not help it the poem had taken a hold on him. He was haunted by what it meant and haunted as well by what Ginny finding it in his possession might mean. But most of all he could not believe that he had once had someone felt that strongly for him.

* * *

A boy was sitting with his friends in the common room. He paid no head to the girl sobbing in the corner, writing. But one day he would. They both just didn't know it yet.

* * *

**But is it a cliffy or is it the end? Do you want to know what happens or do you want to fill in the gaps. I know what happens. So if you reviews telling me you want me to continue and believe me I'll know (I have a hit counter) if you don't review! And I will most definitely post the next chapter.**

**There is a secret about this story that only a few know if you would like to know it then I advise you to let me know. (Because I quite frankly like the idea of leaving the story hanging.)**

**XxPTxX**


	2. Love is pain and confusion

**I know you want to read it but I hate it so don't be disappointed there's however still one** **more chapter.**

The girl with the red hair was healing, her love forgotten she could move on. And she did, but Love can never stay hidden forever…

XxX

Ginny and Harry where sitting together in the clearing in the woods next to The Burrow. They had gone out on a walk just after breakfast. The conversation was not impeccably interesting – just banter really. But they made it interesting with the way they looked at every subject. They had been there for about an hour when the conversation became uncomfortable.

"So Ginny, when did you get over me?" Harry was the one to blame for the discomfort. It was the hardest question he'd ever had to ask, but that was it he had to ask it. She frowned at him slightly and ran a hand through her hair.

"What – Why do you ask that?" She sounded uneasy as though she'd rather be anywhere else.

"You had that crush on me, didn't you, when did you get over it?" She faced the ground and thought for a while.

"Well it was such a gradual thing I didn't really notice I just… was."

"Oh." That's all he could say truth be told he was a little sad that she had gotten over him. To lose love like that must be painful.

"Did you hate me Ginny."

"Sometimes." It wasn't spoken with regret and he, after reading the poem, could understand why. They sat in silence for a while.

"It wasn't your fault you know." She said this all still to the ground.

"Wasn't it?" He tried to get some eye contact between them. Ginny's eyes suddenly met his.

"What do you mean by that?" She almost sounded accusatory as if she knew he'd found the notebook scrawled with "I HATE HIM"'s or "WHY DOESN'T HE LOVE ME?"'s.

"I mean I was the one who didn't – didn't erm… like you back." He half wanted her to blame him, to rage and storm to be angry. But she shook her head.

"You can't help the way you feel. Nobody can."

"Yeah but you can't deny if I'd liked you back things would have been better for you." She smiled ruefully at this.

"I don't know, maybe." Was that all she had to say? Did she not blame him for the chamber?

"What do you mean – maybe?

"Well maybe my life would have turned out a little bit better but I wouldn't be the person I am today." And Harry would miss her so much.

He smiled, "I guess your right." Some of the colossal guilt that weighed down on him lifted, so he was not to blame for everything.

Nearby two magpies hopped back and forth, the young couple blushed, for reasons they could not explain least of all to each other.

"One for sorrow." Ginny said under her breath,

"Two for joy." Harry added. She smiled at him, he smiled back then stopped, what he was about to do was mean but he had to know if she remembered.

"I've always liked magpies," Ginny nodded sensing there was more, "You know the colour of there wings they like change." For a fleeting moment Ginny's eyes went dark like a stormy sea, she knew, but then they cleared and her heart went back to normal. Just a coincidence she thought.

But Harry had seen her look of dawning comprehension even if it had now gone – she remembered. So the poem did mean something after all.

"I guess they do I'd never really noticed."

"It's a nice colour, it's simple you know."

Ginny's mind was working at a furious pace how could he know? He couldn't that poem was in a box in the … attic.

She got up so quickly you would have sworn she'd never been seated, she was furious in an instant.

"How dare you go into my – my private things, and look through my scrapbook?" Harry lowered his face to the ground.

"I was just… curious."

"Curious? Curious of a time that stripped me of my innocence?" She didn't remember ever being so angry. "And then you have the nerve to come out here and tease me about it?"

"No Gin I swear!" He was desperate for her to understand it was essential. But Ginny Weasley wasn't going to listen. She laughed hollowly.

"Swear what Harry? Why else would you mention it if you didn't want to tease me about it? You know Harry a lot of people teased me about that but you I would have thought would leave it be!" An angry tear crept down her face she wiped it furiously away turning away from him.

It was all going horribly wrong, she didn't understand at all but how was he going to make her see. He had to be honest with her, let her know what he felt.

"I didn't know." He said hoarsely to her back.

"Didn't know what?"

"I didn't know that you… _loved_ me." Ginny whipped around so quickly she almost fell over.

"How could you not know?" She asked searching him for answers she didn't really want to hear.

"I thought it was just a crush, you know?" He shrugged. Ginny laughed that dead laugh again.

"People have been saying that to me for years," and with that she walked away back towards the burrow. And after that she didn't talk to Harry again – well once – but that didn't really count because he was the one who had spoken.

"Ginny?" She had been sitting alone it was the journey to Hogwarts "We need to talk." She remained staring out of the window refusing to acknowledge his presence. "Well then I need to say something to you." Still there was no reaction. "I've been thinking about this for ages and I need you to know, If I had known then, if I had understood why- I wouldn't have let you cry." He took one last look at her; still determinedly staring out the window, and left. And once again he missed the tears and the silent screams.

The little girls grown no longer in need of a hero, but know she ponders does her hero need a saviour of his own.

The young man can no longer stand, the world weighing down his shoulders. And that little piece of parchment may just be his last burden.

**Argh I hate it I hate it! It's the middle step and I can't stand it! Please hold on the next will be good! If anyone's got any criticism or pointers review! It's the stress you know I want to get this and four more stories out in3 days. Oh Yeah!3 MORE DAYS!**

**The secret ah yes the secret well all will be revealed in time I promise!**


	3. Love is never ending

**Well HBP beat my other story out. But I don't mind really 'coz … WE WE'RE RIGHT! They are meant to be.**

**A word to the wise: This is paying no attention to HBP so don't expect spoilers and honestly if you haven't read the book WHAT are you doing here, go, shoo, read!**

**Anyway those awaiting the secret to the story will get it at the end of this the last chapter, but read the story first, okay?

* * *

**

They will fight their foes, fight one another, but can they stand to fight their love?

* * *

The Grass crunching beneath his shoes he walked on. He paid no head to the many ominous growls off the path. And finally he found it almost concealed in the bramble. A clearing in the heart of the forest, unnaturally shaped by Grawp who had taken lodging here a year or so ago. He sat down on an uplifted tree drawing something from his long cloak. A deep red velveteen book sat still in his palm. The way the young man looked at it you may have thought that this book may hold some magical property, which being as this boy was Harry Potter and a wizard, would not surprise. But in fact this book was not magical at all, or at least not in the 'usual' fashion. He sat there, his thumb stroking the soft spine nervously. _He should not have it._

One might ask whether he had stolen it? But another might argue that feelings are impossible to steal. It is the heart that is stolen. So perhaps he was guilty of that.

He flicked through the now familiar pages and paused at the page he had looked upon more then any other. On this particular page was a poem, it was not especially well written but it had a truth about it that no one could deny. He did not bother reading the poem, he already knew it by heart, he instead concentrated on the way the page was blotchy indicating the way tears had fallen thick and plenty.

He had always wondered how she had made the poem that had started so innocently – with a common question – so dark and sad. But he had long since condemned it as the thing that had ruined their short friendship, it's calm words and tear stoked page causing him to wonder… why. Why had he let her go so many years feeling that way, why had he not consoled her himself? Could he not have told her that he would never feel the same way and that she should forget him and move on?

_Could you say that now? _

But could he, without lying, could he honestly say that he felt nothing other than friendship towards her?

But that didn't matter now. She wasn't talking to him anyway. The last time he had said anything to her was on the train to Hogwarts, but that had been a month ago. He knew why she was angry, knew she had every right, but could not help hoping that somehow Ginny would forgive him.

Harry heard a near by bush rustle and wondered numbly whether the centaurs had tracked him down. Though he didn't bother looking over his shoulder, more thoughts were flitting across his mind. But he could not ignore the petite figure immerging from the bush, her red hair gleaming in the October moonlight.

"Well?" She said it as though he had raised a point and then dropped it without elaboration, and when he continued to look at her disbelievingly, she added, "You said we needed to talk. Here I am. Talk."

Harry's brain worked overtime trying to process it all, Ginny here talking to him. He composed himself.

"Why are you here?"

"I saw you coming into the forest." She said dismissively.

"I didn't ask you that."

"I need to know once and for all… What did you think of the poem?" She said it off handily, as if it had no importance.

"What did – I? What?"

"Did you think it was sappy or what?" she said with a slightly twisted smile.

"I don't understand what you're asking?"

"It's pretty simple. I just wanted to know, considering that you're the only person ever to read it except me. What did you think?" her eye twitched ever so slightly and her comfortable smile faltered.

"I thought it was…" he started but he was unable to finish, but she assumed his answer.

"That bad huh?" and she turned to leave, but Harry shouted out for her to stay. And stay she did. So he explained to her all the things that he'd wanted to explain. About not realising that it had been him that had made her first year so hard. About not realising she had felt that way, loved him.

"But that isn't true." Ginny said calmly, but when Harry continued to look slightly sceptical she explained. "Maybe I felt strongly about you. But it wasn't love. How could it have been? I didn't know you then, you didn't know me. I don't deny that sometimes love can be one-sided. But, for it to be love I would have had to at least see what you were truly like. I didn't know then. So no Harry I didn't love you then." Harry gaped at her. So she hadn't … not even a little? But what he couldn't understand was why he felt so disappointed.

"Sometimes I wish it was though." She said more to herself than him. She'd never before voiced this. "It's all better to have lost love than have never to have loved at all that way. But no, all I had was devotion, kinda fanatic if you think about it."

"No." said Harry quietly. "It's not fanatic. Not really. You weren't really the president of my fan club, were you?" he smiled reassuringly.

"So you understand?" she asked.

"Well no." said Harry honestly. "I don't understand how you got over me. The poem looks so happy and then so sad, why."

"Because I was, happy and sad, all the time. The 'love' I felt for you was always a sad love, 'coz I always knew that was all it could ever be."

It took him a while to comprehend this.

"Then how did you get over me?" he asked. She shook her head and looked around to check that they were well and truly in the forest and nobody else was around.

"See that book you've got." Harry picked it up and dusted the dirt of it. "Have you read it all?" He hadn't, he'd read the poem and that had made sure he didn't want to read anymore. He shook his head.

"The back page. Read it." She sat down and waited as Harry, hands shaking opened the book at its last page.

_**I should probably let him go. I bet I could. It wouldn't be hard. Just stop. But I know I won't. I can't help myself; I know he'll never feel that way. That I'm being irrational. But the fact is, I just don't care. I don't care that I don't really know him, that he's got a girlfriend, that he might even love her. Because honestly I know it will never happen. I'll never tell him. One day he'll find out he may even ask me about it. I'll just deny it or say, "I'm over that." I may well be. But it will still hurt. It's like rubbing salt in a healing wound. In fact that's how I feel when I see them together. I'll just grit my teeth and smile.**_

_**But don't get me wrong it's not love. How could it be? We hardly talk; I don't really know him. But it still hurts. My friends say I'm crazy especially the ones who actually know him. **_

_**They probably are made for each other. They'll probably stay together their whole lives. I don't mind; I'm not waiting.**_

_**Because for me to be waiting; I'd have to have hope. Hope that he could feel something for me; hope that we could be together and that, that is irrational. **_

_**I don't know why I like him. Maybe I've fabricated him a whole different personality out of things I want him to be.**_

_**So maybe I should let him go. Just not now. Maybe I do have hope. I don't know.**_

There were no tears on this page.

"That was written last year," she said in a whisper, but the silence of the forest carried it to his ears. "Just after I found out about you and Cho, I went to get some stuff from the Burrow."

"So you never did…?"

"No I never got over you, I learnt to live again, but no I never really gave up hope."

"So you still…?" Ginny nodded, words beyond her, she turned away.

Harry began to step towards her, the scrapbook fell to his feet but he ignored it, he turned her around.

And for once in his life, nothing mattered. Not saving the world, not the poem, nothing. And he kissed her - without thinking - he kissed her. For love may be a lot of things, blind, beautiful, or even fanatical. But at that moment; to those two people. Love was everything. And everything was love.

* * *

I once heard someone say that there was no such thing as a happy ending but maybe happy endings aren't such good things after all. Some things should never end. Love should never end. And now I can tell you that there's never will. Many years after they have gone, there story forgotten. Words will remain, so my favourite colour will always be the blue of the last inky word I have written.

* * *

**Well that was a hard story to write! Emotionally of course. (See secret) But gah soppy ending huh?**

**The long awaited secret is…** **this story is plagiarized. BUT WAIT! It's plagiarized but barley… actually no the story's original. Ginny's feelings are plagiarized, but from me. I'm not making much sense. Okay I'll explain, the poem wasn't written for the story, the story was written for the poem. I wrote the poem many months ago and it's about my own life, my love, my Harry. I didn't change it even the bit about the green in the eye. It just fit… So there's my secret. And the scrawl of a diary entry was actually my own again. **

**I don't know what has possessed me to post my feelings onto a website, but I started writing and it just worked, I didn't plan to post my diary entry though but I ran into difficulty and it saved me.**

**Even though you all think I'm rally strange now I'll still thank you for reading.**

**This chapter has about 1700 words in it. So do me a favour and type a review (which probably has an average of like 25 words!) **


End file.
